Blood in the Dark
by DirectionallyChallengedKenshi
Summary: The Infection properly sets in, crushing any immunity. When the Survivors change, lives are lost and friends are forced to kill friends. This is the breaking point, with blood in the dark.


Blood in the Dark

Summary: The Infection properly sets in, crushing any immunity. When the Survivors change, lives are lost and friends are forced to kill friends. This is the breaking point.

Rating: T+, maybe M for dark themes. No romance.

Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead or any of the characters. They belong to Valve Corporation.

This has extremely dark themes, drug use, cursing and suicide. If you don't like that sort of thing, leave now. I do NOT want any flames on how this is too dark, or anything stupid on the same lines.

The characters may be OOC, and any mistakes are my own fault. The reviews must be constructive criticism or positive feedback, but NO FLAMES.

This includes all of the Survivors. Bill is not killed by Tanks in this fictional work of the game.

The theme to go with this is Buried Beneath by Red. I advise you to listen to it - it does fit this fanfiction well.

Again, I shall say that this is extremely dark in some readers' points of view, mine included, but if this is not what you would class as dark, don't leave negative feedback. This is dark for me. There are a few comedic elements, but otherwise... no.

You have been warned.

Blood in the Dark

EIGHT WEEKS AFTER FIRST INFECTION

LOUIS

I knew as soon as I woke. I knew what was happening to me. I knew what was going to happen to me. I stumbled to my feet from my bed, but a wave of nausea washed over my senses and I collapsed to my knees, heaving up the meager remains of my meals before. I heard a sleeping bag rustling.

"Louis, are you alright?" Zoey was immediately by my side, checking my temperature, looking for fresh wounds.

"Yeah," I nodded shakily, wiping my mouth and standing slowly.

"Hm." From Zoey's expression, I could tell she didn't believe me. "Guys," she called. Bill and Francis looked up from their sleeping bags.

"What?" Francis groaned.

"Louis is ill," she answered.

"I hate illnesses."

"I'm serious here!"

"It's alright," Bill reassured her. "How do you know he's ill?" He kicked Francis through the sleeping bag, motioning for him to get up. Francis rolled his eyes, and climbed laboriously from his makeshift bed.

"He just threw up, and he has a fever," Zoey replied, "I think he has the flu." I turned to look at them, and I caught Francis' eye. He quickly looked away, acting nonchalant, but I knew he was worried. But he shouldn't be. None of them should.

"Come on, Louis, let's get you back to bed," Zoey coaxed, "I don't want any more illness to spread." I shook my head.

"We need to keep going. I'll be fine," I added when Zoey opened her mouth to protest.

"Okay, but you need to stay in the center so you don't get attacked too much, okay?" Zoey reasoned. I nodded.

"Grab your guns," Bill called, "There's a Horde coming!" I listened carefully, and, sure enough, I could hear the howls and snarling of the incoming Infected.

"Get back, Louis!" Zoey yelled, dual pistols firing faster than ever. Francis threw a Molotov over Bill's head, setting anything wooden aflame.

"Merry Christmas," Francis grumbled, using his shotgun to kill several Infected. Bill elbowed him, motioning towards me. I spun as a claw slashed my back, but as I raised my gun another wave of dizziness overcame me, and I fell to my knees. Hands scrabbled and clawed at my back, causing me to fall onto my side, vulnerable to the Infected. They screeched as I fell, and other Infected turned their heads to look at my fallen form. They began to wade through the properly deceased corpses of their brethren to reach me. I heard Zoey stop firing when the Infected started closing in on me.

"Guys! Louis is down!" she screamed.

"I hate Louis!" Francis roared back, sprinting through the crowd of Infected to reach me. He extended a hand, which I took before throwing up again; bile and acids erupting from my lips onto Francis' upturned palm.

"I hate being puked on!" Francis snapped, wheeling round to deliver several rounds of bullets to the running Infected. "Dammit, Louis!"

"Francis, I-" I stopped as the world flashed orange. Everything turned darker yet sharper, the colors now with a distinct orange hue. I coughed, and felt blood run down my chin onto my shirt, and I heard distant, distorted screaming. A roar echoed through my senses, and I saw the silhouette of a Tank crash into Francis. He fired desperately alongside Bill as it threw a chunk of concrete straight at him. Francis was immediately knocked off his feet, and he was sent flying into a ditch. The Tank fell to its knees, chest full of bullets. Bill reloaded his pistols, picking his cigarette from the floor. As he walked towards me, everything began fading to darkness.

"-is! Louis! LOUIS!" I blinked awake, and the orange faded. My eyesight returned, and I could see Zoey kneeling beside me. "Do you need healing?" she asked frantically, holding the red bag. I shook my head blearily.

"The Tank's finished," Bill shouted, "How's Louis?"

"Bad," Zoey replied, "He's thrown up twice, and he has a really high fever. He's seriously burning up!"

"Shit, I need a hand over here!" Francis was lying on the floor where he had landed. Bill grabbed his hand and hauled him up, and Francis brushed himself down. Avoiding my eye, he pushed roughly past me to reach his dropped shotgun, but as he passed he pressed a bottle of pills into my hand. I nodded my thankfulness, popping the lid off the bottle and downing the whole thing. Everything became sharper again, and brighter, but the pain didn't fade away like it usually did after taking pills. In fact, if anything, it got worse.

"Louis!" Zoey spun on her heel as my knees buckled. I coughed several times, bloody phlegm spattering the grass.

"I'm fine." I waved a hand dismissively at her. She shook her head, kneeling beside me again.

"Come on, we gotta go!" Francis shouted. He lifted his shotgun to shoot another Infected.

"Francis is right. If we stay any longer, there'll just be more Hordes," Bill agreed with the short-tempered biker, walking back to help me up.

"Th-thanks..." I gingerly took a few steps, wobbling precariously and teetering drunkenly sideways. Zoey grabbed my elbow and steadied me, and I nodded my thanks when she guided me a few steps. When my pace was stronger, she let go, and I managed to walk at a steady pace up the path.

"You gonna be good?" Francis asked me gruffly, his eyes clouded with masked worry. I nodded hesitantly.

But I wouldn't be.

So... the only way to stop myself...

... was...

... to die.

That was nearly a year ago.

I died that day. I got myself into a Horde, ensuring my fate to be torn irreparably apart.

But...

... it had been difficult.

I could only stand and watch to the side as Zoey tried to revive my mortal form.

"Louis! LOUIS! Oh, god, no, not Louis...!" Zoey had screamed and run towards my corpse, dual pistols firing in all directions. She had thudded to her knees in the mud beside my cooling body, frantically picking up pieces and getting her cuffs soaked with blood.

My blood.

FRANCIS

"I hate this," I murmured, turning my hands over again and again, flipping them palms up then back again. No matter how much I shook my head and blinked, the unmissable claws on my fingertips stood out painfully against the red of blood. The skin was flaking off, leaving jagged edges halfway up my forearms, the raw surfaces tender and sensitive. I winced as I covered my arms from elbow to fingertip with bandages, being careful to conceal the claws I tried to hard to forget. I then pulled the sleeping bag off my head, stretching as if I'd just woken. Zoey was standing with Bill, talking with four other people. I cocked my head, feeling the sudden urge to laugh.

"I hate newbies. Who are you?" I called, laughing to myself as they all looked over at me.

"Gun down, Nick," one man ordered, using his own dark-skinned hand to push down the barrel of his gun. Nick was wearing a white suit spattered with blood, grime, and several different organs. I giggled again, jumping to a crouching position on a log. Another man, with a blue cap and Georgian drawl, protested,

"He's a... uh... one of those back-humpin' thingies!"

"I can see that," the older man snapped. "Rochelle?" The woman called Rochelle shifted her position of aiming at me, to aiming at the incoming Horde. Her gunfire echoed in my ears, distorted and overly loud. My eye twitched as a particularly loud shot tore into my eardrum, searing pain shooting down my back. I giggled despite the pain.

"Coach, Ellis," Nick called, "Keep an eye on the Jockey biker." The Georgian man with the cap and the dark-skinned commander from earlier nodded, training their guns on me. I just lifted my hands, as if surrendering, but my fingers twitched crazily.

"Oh, man, Coach, look at his eyes!" Ellis commented, motioning with a hand to point at me. "They're huge! Like Keith's after they tear-gassed him!"

"Keep your gun aimed, Ellis," Coach ordered. Ellis went quiet and lifted his gun again. I cocked my head to one side, hearing the faint cries of a Wandering Witch echoing in the forest nearby. I crouched as Coach turned to talk to Zoey, and I sprang into the air. Landing solidly on Ellis' shoulders, the bandages around my forearms unraveled and I began clawing at the man's head, knocking his cap into the dirt. Tilting my knees, I steered him towards the growing cries of the Witch. He yelled in pain as he collided with the infected girl. Her head shot up and her orange eyes flashed, and I leapt off the shoulders of the Georgian as the Witch struck him with one clawed hand. Immediately down, he desperately shot with his pistols. I jumped at him, but stopped dead as several shots ripped into my body. Standing still, I watched as the Witch ran screaming into the forest, the corpse of the Georgian already going cold, blood pooling around him. I looked down at myself, and upon seeing the many bullet wounds, I laughed.

"Ellis! No, baby, no! Ellis!" Rochelle screamed, tripping over my bowed form as she ran towards Ellis. Instinctively, she lifted her pistols and released a badly aimed warning shot at me, but when she saw my smiling face amid so much blood she opened fire.

"Ro, wait!" Coach shouted, running after her. "What's wrong with Ellis?"

"H-he..." Rochelle hiccuped, hands clutching Coach's shirt as she cried. "He's... dead!" Coach blanched.

"What?" he whispered. "Who did it? Who killed Ellis?! WHAT WAS IT?!" Coach roared. He heard me giggling, and turned to look down at me, with my blood-soaked front, clawed hands and wild eyes. He aimed his shotgun at the center of my chest, his eyes staring into mine. I went quiet

"I don't regret this." He pulled the trigger, and I felt a brief moment of searing pain before everything went cold and grey. I fell to one side, the smile fading from my face as I realized what I had done. Blood bubbled in a stream from my mouth. Coach stepped back, saying something to me, but his voice was distorted and distant and I couldn't hear anything clearly. My vision was blurred around the edges, the darkness closing in. I saw Zoey crash through the foliage to reach me, and I saw her eyes fill with tears as she spun to yell something at Coach. When he replied, she turned back to me, cupping my cheek. Color returned to my vision as she pressed a pistol to my bloody chest, over my heart.

"I'm sorry... Francis!" she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away. There was a deafening bang. Then...

Nothing.

BILL

"I'm turning," I murmured to Coach. He looked at me.

"What?"

"I'm turning. Look." I pointed to my arms and neck, where small tumor-like growths were. Coach looked and moved away from me.

"Shit. Are you contagious?"

"You're probably just a carrier." Probably. Just what we say when we know it's the opposite.

"Have you ever met anybody who turned infected?" Rochelle asked. "Apart from Francis," she muttered.

"This Church Guy," I recalled.

"My parents," Zoey admitted. Ellis gave her a pitying look, and Rochelle squeezed her hand comfortingly. I just lit another cigarette, nodding resolutely at Coach. He returned the notion, reloading his gun and shooting a few more Infected.

"So-" I began to speak, but was cut off by a coughing fit. Hacking sounds echoed around the clearing, and I could feel smoke building up in my lungs. Spitting my cigarette out, I thought the pain would lessen, but smoke began spewing from my mouth.

Green smoke.

The others darted back, lifting their guns to aim at me. Zoey just stumbled to them, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Bill?" she called to me. "Bill!"

"Z-Zo-" I stopped again as a new cloud of smoke was expelled from my lungs. I felt a force pressing against the back of my mouth, and my gag reflex kicked in, causing me to throw up. As I did so, I felt excruciating wrenching pain in my lower abdomen. Stopping to look down, I didn't see vomit.

I saw a long tongue.

That was the penultimate memory of sight in that life.

The last sound? Gunfire.

That last sight was a tear.

A single tear working its way down Zoey's cheek as she aimed her pistols at me, mouthing two words.

"I'm sorry."

ZOEY

I couldn't look as I killed the third of our group of four. Louis had committed suicide, and that had been difficult to get over. But even worse was having to kill Francis and Bill, and the need to cry rolled through my body as I saw Bill's eyes glaze as he collapsed to the ground. Green blood surrounded him. Eventually breaking, I fell to my knees, burying my face in my hands and wailing my grief. Rochelle say beside me and whispered soothing words, before departing to allow me a space to cry in. Her, Ellis and Coach stood a few meters away, preparing the food for the evening. I didn't feel like eating when they offered me, and I didn't want to sleep. I just wanted to sit and cry, to not be disturbed so I could wallow in lamenting for my lost companions. Bill had been a steady replacement for my own dead father, stoic but a comfort in the drastic times. Louis and Francis had been elder brothers, helping me in my times of need yet vulnerable themselves. But now, knowing I would never see them again, I couldn't face anything anymore. I began to cry again, clawing the ground as hot tears overflowed and dampened the floor.

"Why?" I howled. "WHY?"

I remained there for days, eating and drinking the bare minimum to keep me alive, my body gradually becoming thin and my clothes ragged from wear. The tie from my hair fell out on day four, so my hair shielded my face. All I could do was cry, and when I couldn't I would just sob until I didn't know what was or wasn't real anymore. On day eight, I hallucinated that I could see my lost father and brothers again. When I looked up after that day, I could still almost see the ghostly outlines of their forms, but when I reached out they were gone.

And soon, so was I.

ROCHELLE

"Oh, baby, Ellis..." I clutched his corpse, trying to hold his organs in to give him a dignified death. But with his clothes torn and skin open with bleeding cuts, I couldn't see how he could be any better. Coach placed a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up at him.

"C'mon, Ro." I shook my head. "The Witch might return," he added, so I dragged myself to my feet, using a discarded branch to dig a hole. Laying Ellis' body flat inside, I found his cap to the side and bit my lip to hold in tears.

"Goodbye, Ellis," I whispered, before breaking into sobs. Burying his body with the fresh soil, and placing his cap at the peak, the darkness set in. I had just seen someone die. Yes, corpses walked around me all day, but he had been so friendly. A torch in the shadows of this HELL. And now he was gone. Out of the original eight, only four of us remained, and one was already going insane. Suddenly, I felt a burning sensation in the back of my throat, and, assuming it was bile, I coughed it up. But, to my surprise, a green sphere of acid shot from my parted lips and hit Coach's front. And once he was down, I couldn't stop myself.

NICK

Hearing gunfire, I ran into the woods after Coach and Rochelle. I lifted my gun, but stopped dead at what I saw. Coach's burnt, hissing corpse, already half-eroded in a pool of spreading acid. And Rochelle, acid oozing from her parted lips, bleeding bullet holes riddling her front.

"Rochelle! Coach!" I shouted, but neither replied. I saw a small mound of dirt behind Rochelle, a blue cap placed carefully on top. Feeling nauseated, I knew I had to escape. But Zoey was still here, so I walked up to her crying form. She growled when I came closer.

"Come on, Cupcake," I called to her, using her special nickname. "Cupcake?"

The last thing I ever saw was a flash of orange eyes, burning through me as her claws ripped straight into my heart.


End file.
